“Let me go!”
“Cease, Alessandra.” His chest heaved at her back, and his rapid breaths pelted her ear. “I will not release you until you promise you will stop this madness.”
That was the answer! If she feigned madness, she’d not have to marry. Then Fabroni would have no choice but to send her home. In reality, he’d not bargain a marriage for a woman out of her mind. Alas, she could not pretend insanity. Her pride prevented her from carrying out such a lame scheme.
“All right. You have your wish. Now unhand me before you break my ribs.”
Gaining on her heaving chest, she almost wished the tutor did not let her go. She missed the feel of him at her back, his strong arm holding her protectively. Perhaps if she ran again, he’d capture her to his solid form once more. The idea almost came to fruition, but then he turned her around and her plan suddenly was absurd.
Three even worry lines stretched across his forehead, giving Alessa pause. Surely he wasn’t that concerned over her well being. She straightened her clothing, smoothing the waist and skirt, then tugged at the bodice where it had twisted when he seized her off the ground. Her eyes caught on a slim shoe in his solid grasp. She gathered her skirt up a few inches to find her left shoe missing.
“I will take back my shoe, if you please.”
He scanned the alley. “Sit there.” He nodded at the old barrel. It didn’t appear strong enough to hold a child.
Wary, Alessa lowered carefully, listening for a creak, waiting for the wood to break apart. The tutor went down on one knee and took her foot in his hand. When she saw the sorry state of her stocking, she attempted to pull her foot out of his grasp. The tutor held fast to it.
He inspected the underside, shaking his head as he softly brushed away the dirt. “You are fortunate you did not suffer cuts.”
Mesmerized by the gentleness of his hands, she didn’t respond to his observation. She stared at the top of his head, forcing her hand to her side before it caressed his disheveled hair. Oh, to feel the strands, to run her fingers through them.
Snapping out of the dangerous path her mind wandered, she leaned forward to have a peek at her foot. Her face a mere breath away from the tutor’s, her concentration waned. She focused on his lips, and when he turned his head, she inhaled the ale-tainted scent of his breaths.
Suddenly aware of how vulnerable she was, alone with the tutor in a long, shadowed alley, she prayed her cousins did not happen by and find them. It would not bode well for her or the tutor. Fabroni was certain to stop her lessons and marry her off before she could say no.
However, naught dashed the excitement of the tutor’s closeness. She braced for his kiss. If it didn’t come soon, she’d boldly wrap her hand behind his head and hasten his lips to hers before her heavily beating heart tore out of her chest. The wait was unbearable. She feared she’d faint away. Or do something that would surely set Benito off on another tirade about her purity. Benito be damned. She had to know the taste of the tutor’s lips.
Chapter Eleven
Resist her. Resist the wench now before it’s too late.
Dante’s crumbled will humbled the voice in his head. He lost hope of distancing himself from Alessandra. Even with their unwanted marriage looming over his head like the dreaded axman poised to behead his charge, Dante found his restraint thwarted by the growing strength of an attraction he could neither deny nor explain. To the end he would fight it. He must, for his intentions were not so ignoble that he had the right to enjoy the delectable woman and taste her lips. He planned to marry her for Rene’s cause. Making her his wife in the true sense could never be part of that plan. He’d not bed her.
He could not.
Gesu, her lips were as soft as velvet. He lingered, losing himself in her chaste kiss. She would soon discover the difference between the dallying kisses she gave freely to other men whom she lured in with her incessant flirting and the searing kisses from an experienced lover.
Their lips melded, and Dante admired her ability to match his growing ardor. He brushed the tip of his tongue along the seam of her warm lips, smiling against them when she gasped faintly. He rose up on both knees and positioned himself between her legs. Her hands rested on his shoulders, her uncertain grip hinting at her innocence. He gauged her facial expressions. The angelic aura about her was an aphrodisiac he had not expected. He deepened the kiss, his tongue now breaking the seal of her precious lips. Her moan vibrated into his mouth, hastening his desire. Grace be to God, they were in an alley. He’d not lay her down in such careless filth. Yet he caressed her, excited her in ways he was certain she couldn’t have imagined in the innocent fantasies she wrote.
Slipping in deeper, Dante discovered the taste of her was far more pleasing than the sweetest wine. He held her head between his hands as he explored the regions of her mouth. Her hands fell to his waist then hips, startling him, creating a new fire in his groin.
“You frighten my mother then sneak off to whore with your tutor?”
Alas, finding heaven in Alessandra’s arms was not meant to be. From the entrance to the alley, Benito’s deprecating tone left Dante’s ears ringing and his inflamed desire dampened.
Alessandra pulled herself together remarkably fast. “I was not whoring,” she told him bravely when he approached in a menacing walk.
Dante shoved her shoe onto her foot and got to his feet. His hand resting on the dagger at his waist, he was ready to fight Benito. Pray it didn’t come to that. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardize his new-found position in the Valente family.
He glanced down at Alessandra. She wore petulance as if it was made solely for her. Dante frowned. Without her cooperation, Benito might be inclined to discipline her right before his eyes. While he had used words to extricate himself out of brittle situations with Benito before, he realized no amount of carefully chosen words would soothe the bastard now.
“The girl lost her shoe when she ran through the streets.” The lame explanation didn’t go unnoticed. Beside him, Alessandra’s giggle pervaded his ears.
“You will have me believe you chased her only to return the shoe?” Benito questioned ruthlessly.
“Something frightened her.”
Benito’s scathing eyes settled on Alessandra. She pulled up taller just before partially concealing herself behind Dante for protection.
“The tutor is right. Something did frighten me.”
Dante craned his neck to look at her. He raised an eyebrow in silent question, wishing to know what had scared her into running away. She made an exaggerated point of firmly sealing her lips. His hands itched to ring her neck for not coming forth with compelling information. He came around and met Benito’s wrath.
“It matters not,” Benito declared. “After this latest adventure of yours, my father will see the two of you married posthaste.”
“What?” Alessa fairly shrieked. “What of the betrothal Amalia spoke of?”
Confusion flashed across Benito’s face. He glanced at Dante. “She does not know?”
Dante shook his head.
Alessa turned her wide-eyed gaze up to him. “You are my betrothed?”
Taking offense, he squared his shoulders. “At least I am not old and balding, or falling asleep face down in my food.”
“But I cannot marry you,”
“Only moments ago you could not wait for me to kiss you.” Dante temporarily lost sight of their marriage being in name only. That kiss, that one stroke of mindlessness, turned him as indecisive as an addle-pated female. “Pray tell, what about me do you find unappealing?”
“There is naught unappealing…to the eye. It is simply—I do not love you!”
Stunned, Dante stared at her while mulling over her revelation. He, too, believed love should factor into a union. But he agreed to a betrothal not of his choosing and wondered if his crazy notion was as muddled as Alessandra’s fantasies. While he knew they’d not consummate their marriage, Alessandra did not. He couldn’t blame her for taking
a stance against marrying a man who did not capture her heart.
“You have no say in the matter,” Benito said.
She turned an evil look on him and insisted with heated passion, “I do have a say. My father would never marry me off to a man for whom I have no feelings.”
Benito stepped forward and grabbed her forearm. “You will learn to have feelings. Now, do not waste my time. My father is awaiting you in his shop.”
She shook away his hand and dug her feet into the stone. “I will face Fabroni, but I’ll not be dragged through the street like a child.”
Dante couldn’t help snickering. She tilted her perturbed expression up to him, and he lost his amusement.
With a huff, Alessa marched past both men. The alley turned into a long, endless road, prolonging her nightmare. Any other woman might jump at the opportunity to claim a husband as breathtaking as Dante Santangelo, if for no other reason than to lie with an attractive man. His handsomeness alone might have satisfied her if not for the romantic notion of love. Aware it was simply a fantasy she played over and over in her mind and in her writings, it was a fantasy she’d hold onto for as long as she could.
Once she reached her cousin’s shop, she pushed the door a mite too exuberantly and it slammed back against the wall. Her irrational entrance had little effect on Fabroni.
“I’ll not marry the tutor,” Alessa announced with staunch determination and folded her arms over her chest.
Fabroni set his working tool and a leather boot down on his work table. His quiet demeanor gave her pause. He pressed his lips into a line of disapproval. She cared not, for she would never back down. If he sat upon her in front of a priest, she still wouldn’t concede.
“It has become clear to me that you are in need of a man to control your impetuous behavior. What better man than an educated one to teach you manners and how a woman should behave?”
But the tutor shares secrets with the French, she wanted desperately to shout. Alas, she’d not condemn him until she was certain it was the truth.
“My father will not be happy, no matter that you say he has given you permission to find a husband for me. I will never believe he would do that. He told me often, I may choose the man I wish to wed.”
“I fear your father’s patience has come to an end. He cannot curb your lust for adventure. Neither can I.”
Benito bounded through the door and glared at Alessa. She lifted her gaze to the tutor, but he hung back.
“Signor Santangelo has requested the betrothal not be announced,” Fabroni went on, “so we will forgo the customary banns and waiting period. You have five days to prepare.”
She glanced at the tutor. The tight expression on his face pinched her curiosity. He appeared just as unhappy with Fabroni’s announcement.
“You have agreed to this marriage?” she asked him pointedly.
He replied with a terse nod. So he did agree, but under what circumstances? Had Fabroni discovered Dante’s heart rested with the French side? If true, she applauded her cousin’s cleverness, arranging the marriage to keep a close eye on the tutor. However, it made little sense, given the animosity Fabroni and Benito shared for the French. Neither would knowingly allow a Frenchman working for King Rene to wed one of their own.
“You will openly court,” Fabroni added, much to the tutor’s astonishment. “Beginning on the morrow, Signor Santangelo will accompany you on a daily stroll. Amalia will chaperone.”
Alessa frowned, unable to stop her chin from quivering. Pray she kept at bay the tears welling in her eyes. “I implore you to await my father before the marriage is rushed. I have not a dowry to present to Signor Santangelo.”
“Naught about your forthcoming marriage is customary. The signore has graciously declined a dowry. However, one will be presented after the wedding.”
“But it is important my father presents the dowry he has saved for my wedding. You cannot deny him that.”
“Five days, Alessandra. Now get upstairs and help Amalia with the household duties.”
She’d pray to God like she never had before for her father to arrive in Naples before she was forced into a marriage of convenience. But who would the convenience serve?
****
The musician materialized out of the thick mist, beckoning Alessa to follow. He walked on air, a hand’s width above the cobblestone. Casting aside doubt, she started toward him. A beautiful starburst surrounded him, the strength of his light pulling her nearer. A strange sense of calm overcame her.
Of a sudden, two mighty hands yanked her away. The musician faded into a tunnel of opaque light as a bear-sized man dragged her into an alley. His grating voice spoke in French. Darkness circled, thrusting her into a void. She clawed to get out, to find her way back home.
Alessa shot upright in her bed, bathed in sweat. Her heart pounded with the force of a thousand galloping horses. Breathing heavily, she searched the corners of her room, turning to the shadows which seemed to move in eerie ways. She drew a deep breath and her chest quivered. Shaking terribly now, she sprang from the mattress and pulled out her journal and pen. She thrust open the shutters, then sat cross-legged, leaning back against the cold stone wall beneath the window. Using the moon’s pale light, she steadied her hand and wrote down everything she recalled from her troubling dream. When she finished, she hugged the book to her chest.
“What does it mean?” she asked the stillness. If only her mother was there to allay her fears that she might be losing her mind. “I am too young to spend my life adrift.”
A passing image jerked her attention to the window above her head. The shutters had not been barred. Amalia must have forgotten to lock them after airing out the bedchamber.
Alessa moved swiftly. She buried her writing material in her trunk and pulled out a dark green dress, the color perfect for blending into the night. Her joints flexible, she was able to connect the buttons up her back. After hastily braiding her hair, she shoved her feet into her shoes and headed for the window. Before climbing out, she wrapped herself in her warm cloak and tucked her hair into the hood. With luck, she’d find the tutor in his element among the French and beg him to hear her out. It may well be foolish, but it was most urgent to speak with him, to learn if Dante Santangelo agreed to the marriage because of a threat from Fabroni. Or if he might have something more invidious in mind for her once they were wed.
She cast an eye at the closed door. Reservations gave her pause, but none stopped her. She simply had to know the truth. Pulling the hem of her dress forward, she stepped onto the window ledge. Pray she remained safe on this night.
Chapter Twelve
In the last hours before dawn, the shadows were darker and the air colder. Alessa cinched the ties of her cloak to keep the hood in place. Up ahead, two soldiers patrolled. They always walked in pairs, perhaps in fear of attack from those who considered the French their enemy.
Moving furtively, she kept to the shadows, grateful for the haze drifting downward to shroud the city. She glanced up at the eerie moon, partially obscured now by the patches of clouds. Along with the lamplights, Alessa had just enough light to find her way to the French camp.
An uneasy shiver charged up her back, a veritable reminder of the last time she’d ventured to this forbidden part of town. It would behoove her to steer clear of the mist, for it was there she found the intriguing musician. But after her dream, she wasn’t sure if he was friendly or a disciple of Satan.
At the edge of the alley she came upon two homeless men eating scraps of food. At first she drew back, worried they might harm her. Then she looked closer. They were elderly and quite undernourished. Both wore well-worn cloaks and covered their shoulders with blankets. At least they had that much, along with the meager fire in a ring of rocks and whatever else they had gathered. How she wished she carried coins to give them. She stared at the flames, and a new idea formed.
“A favor, if you please?” she asked.
“A comely wench would ask a favor o
f us?” the gray-haired one questioned, his smile showing half his teeth missing.
“But of course, signori.”
“What can we possibly do for you?” The other man’s gravelly voice gave way to a spate of coughing. The sorrow in her heart caused her eyes to mist.
“I shall like to borrow soot from your fire.”
Their shock evident, she prayed they’d not deny her.
“If that is what you want,” the first man said.
Alessa smeared the black stuff over her two upper front teeth. Hopefully the moisture from her lips would not rub it off. She then mixed ash and dirt together and rubbed it across her face. Her intention was to make herself as unappealing as possible so the soldiers would leave her alone. It was the only way she knew of to find the tutor without being assaulted again.
“Am I more comely?” she asked, grinning widely.
“As pretty as a bird’s song on a spring morn,” the same man said.
“I thank you for your kindness. Buona notte, signori.”
She stepped out of the shadows to test her disguise. Passing a soldier, she slowed her pace when he stopped and stared. He leaned in close, set his hand under her chin and lifted her face. His disgust unmistakable, the reaction was what she had hoped for. He mumbled a few words before he continued on his way. A breath of relief billowed past Alessa’s lips.
Resisting the urge to run her tongue over her upper teeth, she almost gagged from the awful taste the soot left in her mouth. She crossed the street, glad not to come across more soldiers. A few buildings down, a woman walked toward her with her head down.
“Signora?” Alessa called.
When the woman’s head came up, Alessa gasped. The crone was either thrice Alessa’s age or a…a man dressed in women’s clothing. She had wrinkles and sagging features, coarse skin and a sprinkling of dark hair across her upper lip. Alessa tried her best not to recoil.
“Know you where I may find Dante Santangelo?”
Dante's Flame Page 9
